


conflict

by mini_poppy



Category: The Boy (2016 Bell), 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Cunnilingus, Domestic Fluff, Double Penetration, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Headcanon, Obsessive Behavior, Oral Sex, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Polyamory, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Shigaraki Tomura | Shimura Tenko, Protective Shigaraki Tomura | Shimura Tenko, Romance, Tumblr Prompt, Unhealthy Relationships, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Yandere, Yandere Shigaraki Tomura | Shimura Tenko, sharing is not caring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-19 07:08:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22807219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mini_poppy/pseuds/mini_poppy
Summary: They're from two completely different worlds, yet strangely similar that yield unparalleled resemblance.
Relationships: Brahms Heelshire/Reader, Shigaraki Tomura | Shimura Tenko/Reader, shigaraki tomura/reader/brahms heelshire
Comments: 7
Kudos: 86





	1. conflict meeting

**Author's Note:**

> I love Shiggy, but Brahms though… you’re giving me a lot of feelings after watching The Boy. Stinky wall boi reminds me of crusty Shiggy, I can’t unsee it
> 
> I don’t know what the shit this is. I welcome your judgment lol.
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/mini-poppy) and [Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/Celia-Crown/e/B07MDW7H9Q/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1) and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/celia_crown/)

* * *

conflict meeting

* * *

“I hate this place.”

“My dear, spoiled man-child—”

“What did you just call me?”

“My lovely, beautiful man,” I correct for the sake of the headache pounding on my temple.

“We’ve been through this,” I say as I glance at the ginormous home that belonged to the old couple that had left me in their will.

I had housesat for them when I was still in school and was in need of cash, which they were willing to pay double the rate for a nanny that would be able to take online classes and focus on the task at hand as a priority.

There was a list of rules that were strange, but the pay was good enough to swallow any complaints.

I was able to live there for free, food paid for, and endless entertainment in the library with multiple genres of books.

The deal was too good to be true.

I thought so too; there were noises at night, food being placed at my bedroom door, and my clothes going missing.

It is a massive house, so I chalked it up to being lost when I was doing chores.

Then I had to leave, to return to the city where I had to take the mandatory class with attendance being the majority of my grades.

When the owners of this place had died, they left the manor in my name as if I deserved it. I didn’t because I only took care of the home like it was mine and they had paid me to do it, so obviously I wasn’t going to destroy my paycheck.

The most bizarre thing that had happened was me taking care of a doll named Brahms, and it’s a long story that I would rather not get into.

It’s more complicated than taking care of Tomura.

“We don’t have to be here,” Tomura grunts, angry and grumpy from the long car ride.

“The Heelshire were great bosses, and they helped me when I was in a rough financial patch.”

I flex my clammy fingers from under his stiff clutch as he growls under his breath, a petulant snarl that resonates with the impatience in his body.

Tomura is what people would call a man-child; he’s freakishly tall, wiry limbs that could ensnarl like a snake and a demeanor of a dangerous psychopath.

He can function fine in society, but the mask of a hand on his face wards off any possible chance of that.

I stopped working for the Heelshire, but that doesn’t mean that I had money to support me for another semester of classes. So, I took on Tomura and became his so-called nanny to care for him.

He was difficult, to say the least.

“You could’ve asked me,” Tomura hisses, turning his lanky body closer to me and buries the uncomfortable hand to the side of my head.

It takes a while to get used to touching a severed hand that smells like formaldehyde. Whether if it’s a real hand or a model, it remains a mystery.

“What?” I ask, taken aback by his sudden deep voice.

Tomura has a light voice, almost airy at times and it’s comforting to hear. Sometimes I would forget that he’s a grown man.

“I could’ve given you money,” he snaps with an arm curling around my shoulders as he drags me to his chest.

“This was before I met you,” I remind him gently.

“Doesn’t change anything,” he argues.

From the point that I met him; logic doesn’t work on him when it’s about my past. It’s a thin line of insanity and genius from the way his brain would work.

It comes out clearly when he wants something; he’ll plan and execute with the precision of a brilliant mastermind.

“Alright, I promise that I’ll be quick. It’s just some paperwork and—”

His arm tightens with his voice seething in annoyance, “Just paperwork.”

“Okay,” I promise with a pat on his rigid hand.

I wrestle out of his arms and motions him to walk beside me as the roar of thunder crackles above us to signal the pending storm. I hope that I could get the work done before it rains or else Tomura would throw a fit about staying for the night.

Heaven forbid that he finds the Brahms doll.

Tomura’s jealously is notoriously destructive.

The home is just as I had remembered, but it’s not kept to the standards that the Heelshire had demanded. I gave out specific instructions when I had given the job to the nanny next in line through the lawyer that worked for the couple.

I did not want to get in the way of legalities.

As soon as the door closes with a creepy creak, a groan from the old walls gives me a chill down my spine.

A flurry of movements ensues in the darkened vicinity, but it was dead silent as it had happened, and it’s replaced by a collision of clatters.

Something stale leaps at me as I’m forced to intake a lungful of dust and sweat. Arms that I am not familiar with yet very firmly curled around my shoulders and waist, a hold of possessiveness as a strange voice ripple into the air.

My name comes out as a breathy whine.

What?

“Who the fuck are you?” Tomura sneers as he climbs back onto his feet.

When did he fall down?

My body had been trained from Tomura’s outbursts. The thing that I know best is to not make sudden movements to scare Tomura when he’s in a fit of rage, and it’s also a good life hack to stay calm in all situations.

I tilt my head to the side and angle it up to see who it is that is holding me like a boa-constrictor. The lightheadedness definitely comes from the stench, but I wouldn’t rule out being suffocating by these strained arms.

The man whines out my name again as his tightening grip to compel me to sink deeper into his very hairy chest. The white tank-top is moldy and dusty, but the cardigan is worst with what seems to be blood caked on it.

Tomura lunges at us, hand wrapping around my arm to tug me away. The other man is relentless and very strong despite his thin appearance.

He’s also weirdly tall, a small hunch of his back when I get the chance to survey him.

He also has a mask—of a porcelain doll that triggers something so irrational in the back of my mind that I’m drawing a blank at the ridiculousness.

Dolls do _not_ grow.

My mouth thinks otherwise.

“Brahms?”

The man, _Brahms_ , makes a strangled sound. Happiness practically vibrates out of his dirty body as he shakes, but his hold on my other arm remains one of the most bruising grips that I had ever experienced.

He’s on par with Tomura in every department and it’s scary as to how similar they are.

“You’re back,” Brahms says from behind the grimy mask.

“Hands off,” Tomura growls, his temper mounting with each heaving breath that he takes.

Confusion aside, I need to defuse the situation before Tomura lets that psychotic side of him lunge at Brahms.

I have so many questions, but it’s going to have to wait.

“Hands off!” I command as I yank my arms out of their grips.

If they wanted, they could have held on. I still have power over them, but I had to try my luck on Brahms.

They stand, stiff and scowled. That doesn’t stop them from glaring at each other through their eyeholes.

It would be funny if the tension on them isn’t hazardous.

Where do I even start with this nonsense?

On one hand, I have an unhinged man who has killed before. On the other hand is a stinky man that barreled through the wall.

The rubbles on the ground are very telling with the shattered painting.

I blink, and all hell breaks loose.

I thought that it was going to be Tomura who strikes first, but it’s Brahms’ lanky body that topples them to the floor.

“Hey, hey!” I scream at them, but my words fall on deaf ears.

They’re strong with uncoordinated hands going everywhere as they tussle on the ground for control.

Brahms may seem to have the upper hand with his weight on top of Tomura and big hands wrapped around the scarred man’s neck, but there is that undeniable glint of bloodthirstiness that glows in the crimson swirls of madness.

Tomura wants to kill, and there is nothing stopping him.

“Boys, behave!”

Time freezes with their halted limbs and withdrawn belligerence as their heads snapped towards me, eyes wide and scared—a bit ludicrous to me since they’re capable of decimating me.

A synchronization of their voice comes as a desperate whimper, uneased and fighting the vile boil of hostility.

“Who’s he?” they ask me, a voice of hurt and distress.

_Dramatic_ , I think to myself.

My headache comes back with a vengeful throb in my temple.


	2. conflict domesticity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two domesticated gross men.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what the hell was I thinking when I wrote this??? I’m sorry, i made some lemonade (nsfw) too.
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/mini-poppy) and [Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/Celia-Crown/e/B07MDW7H9Q/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1) and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/celia_crown/)

* * *

conflict domesticity

* * *

  * Dirty, filthy boys and their selfishness.  
  

  * You’d think they would behave after knowing that you would never choose one over the other.  
  

  * _You thought wrong.  
_
  * Their fights are more aggressive, angrier, and much more jealous of each other. It’s the storm before the calm if you will. Once they get that resentment out of their system, they’ll turn into competitive, attention-starved brats.  
  

  * At first, it’s hard for them to be in the same room without Tomura being snarky and Brahms brooding.  
  

  * You best believe these two flanks your sides like they’re bodyguards for the president. That’s not a terrible comparison; they may dislike each other, but you’re the most important thing to them despite having to share your attention.  
  

  * One time, a grocery boy came to the door and you swear the walls were moaning curses.  
  

  * You did the best you could to take the bags of groceries inside without the help of the man because Tomura was behind the door with a knife in his hand.  
  

  * There will not be another murder if you can help it.  
  

  * Over the next few months, it turned out that there wasn’t a need to be apprehensive about them. They just needed time to adjust to another presence in the room with you since they had you to themselves for a certain amount of time.  
  

  * Sharing was a bit of an unfathomable concept to them.  
  

  * When they do behave like grown men, it’s a weird phenomenon; they would sit in front of the gaming console and try to sabotage the other with lowly tactics that always lead to a round of roughhousing on the ground.  
  

  * _~~Children, please~~_.  
  

  * Game time means unmovable forces.  
  

  * You had one stinky boy (Brahms), now you have two.  
  

  * You knew that they reminded you of something, but you couldn’t put your finger on it until it was time for a shower.  
  

  * There is only so much that you could handle, and that musty stench is not cute. You’re _way_ past the honeymoon phase.  
  

  * They don’t understand why they have to do it.  
  

  * What do you mean they have to shower by themselves? You’re not going to help? What’s this— _it’s a loofah, Tomura, and please do not bite the soap bar, Brahms_.  
  

  * It’s like bathing cats. They have this intense disgust with water, and it’s unreasonable.  
  

  * You have one trying to escape with bubbles clinging to his hair while the other is trying to drag you into the bath of filthy water. You don’t know which one is doing what based on the bustling movements.  
  

  * Why not take turns? They’re scared that you’re going to put more love into the other person if you’re alone with them.  
  

  * All you’re trying to do is clean the grime off them so you can smell soap when you sleep. Every night is two walls of stinky chests.  
  

  * They’re selfish when it comes to you, so it’s not surprising when it trickles into more scandalous activities.


  * Tomura is always between your legs, it’s his resting place; fingers crudely parting your pussy and lips sucking rather forcibly on your soiled clit.  
  

  * He knows that Brahms doesn’t like to take his mask off, but Tomura can yeet the severed hand off his face whenever he wants. It’s to taunt Brahms and it works when the wall boy shoves Tomura away to slot between your thighs.  
  

  * Brahms won’t go down on you, but you best believe his thick cock is down your throat when your moans are the result of Tomura’s ministration.  
  

  * Your ass is left alone, not because they don’t like it but because they’re so jealously competitive that they need to have whatever the other is having.  
  

  * It means your cunt is filled with two massive cocks.  
  

  * They may look lanky, but they’re the strongest people you’ve ever met.  
  

  * They’d hoist you up between them, cocks smeared with your slick and pummeling your quivering walls with abandon.  
  

  * The thought of one of them beneath (physically and psychologically) the other never crossed their minds.  
  

  * One cock is already too much for you. It stretched your walls to its limits and it would take you a couple of seconds to catch your breath from being split open somewhat impatiently.  
  

  * They love the feeling when you cum; your hot cunt spasming and coiling around their throbbing cocks, milking and squeezing whatever is left of their control.  
  

  * The only place their cum is supposed to go is inside of you, and you cannot convince them otherwise.  
  

  * Condoms? What’s that? Pregnant? Even better, you get to stay with them forever.  
  

  * There is no such thing as one round. You would end up sore and aching, pussy red and swollen from their hasty pounding, and cum frothing and webbing when they pull out just to part your thighs to see their handiwork.  
  

  * Aftercare is just them gathering all parts of your weak limbs into their grasps.  
  

  * In that moment of peace, you’d think that it’s going to be good for the three of you.  
  

  * _“You’re in the way.”  
  
_
  * _“Fuck off, wall boy.”_




	3. conflicted sickness

* * *

_Anon: Sick!Reader_

* * *

The adequate answer to how I feel the moment my exhausted eyes open is akin to being hit by a truck.

Everything is painfully sensitive, yet so dull that I only partially hear the bickering of the two near the side of my head.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I hear Tomura snap.

It follows a quiet moment of shuffling before Brahms’s mask reaches my blurry vision. The dirty porcelain mask lingers, a protective hovering stance to keep my eyes from wandering to my other companion.

Brahms whispers with a pitiful whimper, “You’re going to be okay, right?”

“They’re fine,” Tomura grunts, clipped and annoyed.

Brahms isn’t much of a talkative man, not as chatty as Tomura. His words come from his actions and by the bated breath, taut wide shoulders, and the twitch of muscle right above the pulse on his neck—I react through experience and instinct.

Brahms is going to lunge at Tomura and then there will be blood being shed from both parties, I’m too sick with this flu to want to clean up the mess.

I don’t even want to disinfect their wounds when I’m not sick.

“Stop,” I mumble weakly.

Laying a hand on Brahms’s thigh, I pat him as noticeably as I can to get his attention. I need him to stop looking at Tomura before the hostility between them goes over the boiling point.

“Tomura,” I mutter, swallowing the dryness and wincing at the soreness of my voice.

“Medicine, I need—”

A cough ripples from my throat. The soreness stays with a bit of prickling pain as I recover from that.

Tomura’s scarred hand closes around my neck and tips my head back for a clearer airway, but that wasn’t the intention behind his action. He wanted me to look at him instead of trying to help me breathe, but I’ll take any help that I can get from these two unreasonably angry men.

“Who the hell goes outside in the rain?” he scoffs, the red in his eyes gleaming with judgment.

I glare back at him.

It’s not as bad it sounds and Tomura is exaggerating. I had gone out for five minutes to make sure that the gates were locked around the Heelshire mansion, so the storm doesn’t uproot the entire gate.

They didn’t care about that trivialness, but I was not about to pay the damage when the gate damages government property.

“I would’ve helped,” Brahms says, finger dancing up my hip and his cold fingers grazed the hot skin under my shirt.

Tomura snorts.

“I would’ve,” Brahms insist, the childish tone piercing through his demeanor.

“I know,” I manage to say until another cough steals my breath.

“Same here,” Tomura says with a pause, “Help, I mean. You just have to ask.”

“Okay,” I sniff and fight the haziness in my eyes, “Need medicine.”

“Don’t be a baby,” the red-eyed man remarks, “You’re going to sleep when you take it—you can’t do that.”

I want to ask; I _really_ want to ask why the hell can’t I sleep off this flu. I know that they like my attention, but there is a place and a time for that. Right now, it is the worst thing to ask me to do.

“I’m not going to die,” I end up complaining.

“You’ll sleep and that’s worst,” Tomura hisses, “I don’t want to be stuck with that thing.”

I chide at him, “His name is Brahms.”

It’s been months since we’ve been living together and they aren’t making the kind of progress that I want, but it’s better than them trying to assassinate each other at night when I’m between them.

I refuse to be collateral damage.

“Please,” I say, “I need meds.”

Tomura contemplates, but a heavy weight is lifted from my other side when Brahms’s deep voice resounds into my ear.

“I’ll get it.”

Thank goodness that he’s not arguing with me.

Tomura’s rough hand snatches back when his weight leaves the bed too. Loud stomps bounce inside my skull as the ringing in my ears muffled some of their words.

“I said ‘no’.”

I twist my head just in time to see Brahms snagging the nightstand lamp and swing it at Tomura, but the red-eyed man is agile when he dodges.

I turn my eyes back to the ceiling as the predictive crashing of miscellaneous things screeches in the room.

All I wanted was medicine. Now, I have to risk my life to walk through the carnage that they leave behind just to get better.

_Assholes_.


End file.
